


Dive In When I'm Down

by Mordhena



Series: Crowley is Asmodeus Headcanon [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Post-Season/Series 11, crostiel, crowstiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:23:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7417699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Mordhena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season 11 fic dealing with the fallout of Castiel being possessed by Lucifer, and Crowley being Lucifer's bitch. Part of my "Crowley is Asmodeus" head canon series.</p><p>The title comes from the song: "Drown" by Bring me the horizon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dive In When I'm Down

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> _Who will fix me now? Dive in when I'm down?_  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> _Save me from myself, don't let me drown._  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> _Who will make me fight? Drag me out alive?_  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> _Save me from myself, don't let me drown._  
> 
> 
> Drown by Bring me the horizon
> 
> https://youtu.be/TkV5709EG5M 

 

Crowley stands on a balcony overlooking the canals of Venice. His cell phone is pressed to his ear. 

"Well, it's not like I have any other skills," he says into the phone. His expression darkens as he listens to the response on the other end of the line. "No, I will not go back to tailoring." After another short pause, the dethroned king pulls the phone away from his ear, looking at it in disbelief. "You bloody howling _minger_!" He snarls and hurls the cell phone from the balcony. It lands in a canal below, barely missing the pilot of a small boat, who unleashes a furious stream of Italian at Crowley.

"That's littering."

Crowley turns sharply, glowering at the angel who has appeared out of nowhere behind him. "You could get yourself killed, doing that," he notes. "Don’t lecture me about environmental responsibility. Anyway, I thought you were playing doctor with Dean Winchester."

The rise Crowley had hoped to get with that last jibe doesn't eventuate. He scowls. _Can't even pick a fight with the stupid bird. He's oblivious!_

"Sam is resting," Castiel replies. He moves to the sideboard and helps himself to Crowley's whiskey. 

The demon watches him with a baleful eye. Crowley steps off the balcony into the room. He moves towards the sideboard, frowning as Castiel immediately moves away, increasing the distance between them. Crowley pours a shot of whiskey into a glass and downs it, before pouring another.

He sets the glass down, turning to Castiel. Unconsciously, he flexes his hands by his sides, curling them into fists over and over.

“You seem tense.”

“I need something to mutilate.” Crowley paces the length of the room and back. “Preferably something small and helpless.”

The angel chooses to ignore that, "I came to thank you for siding with my father," he says.

"I didn't side with anyone!"

"Yet you fought against Amara."

Crowley scowls, his fists tightening until nails bite into the soft flesh of his palms. He is oblivious to the pain. "I was looking after my _own interests._ That bitch was going to tear everything down.”

There is silence. Crowley paces, the angel moves with him. They circle one another in the dim room. Never close enough to touch. Never so far apart that raised voices are necessary.

“You should be working to regain hell,” Castiel says. “The demons answered your call to fight, Crowley.”

“Demons know which side their bread is buttered,” Crowley replies. He stops pacing, passes a hand across his brow. His gaze glazes, turns inwards.

“Crowley, we won.” Castiel regards the demon for a moment, waiting for a response. “The world is safe; Hell is still here. Heaven is still here.”

Crowley is silent. He doesn’t hear Castiels’s voice. He is attuned to another time and place. Another voice.

 _“You’re nothing to them,” Lucifer says. “Oh, you talk a good game, and you might have charmed them for a while. Really though? You’ve got nothing to back up all that bluster, have you? I mean…look how easily I brought you down, Puppy.” He leans in close, cold fingers caressing Crowley’s jaw. “Even if you_ could _escape me, which you won’t. They’ll never respect you again.” Lucifer laughs as a shudder runs through Crowley’s frame. “You’re just my little plaything. Weak, broken, finished. You’re washed up, Asmodai!”_

“Crowley! You’re bleeding!”

The demon is shaken from his thoughts by firm hands gripping his arms. He blinks, looking up to find Castiel bending over him. Still caught halfway between flashback and reality, he cries out in fright, dropping to his knees. “Mercy!” He wrests himself from Castiel’s grip. “I-I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry! I’ll do better, Master. Please.” He huddles at Castiel’s feet, kissing the angel’s polished shoes as he grovels.

“Crowley, Stop this.” Castiel sinks down beside the demon on the floor and tries to pull him out of his huddled position. “You’re safe. Stop. Stop! It’s Castiel. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Lucifer hurt you!”

Crowley stills. His posture tenses. He stares at his bloodied hands in confusion. After a moment, he looks up, meeting the angel’s eyes. “Castiel…” Then he is on his feet, gathering his dignity around him. He backs away.

“I would never hurt you, Crowley.”

“I’m alright,” Crowley replies. He heals the wounded hands with a thought. Shame at his display of weakness washes through him. He turns his back to the angel and picks up his discarded glass, drinking the whiskey in a swift gulp. The liquor burns, but it’s not enough.

“Do you want me to leave? I understand if you do,” Castiel murmurs.

“Stay!” He barks the word. Pours himself another drink. Crowley doesn’t want to be alone. Too many memories lurk in the shadows waiting to consume him.

The angel shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He’s silent a moment, looking around the room. “Where is Juliet?”

“She’s not with me,” Crowley says.

“You sent her away?”

“No. Hell is where she belongs. She went of her own accord.” Crowley lets out a breath. Half of him wishes the damned angel would leave him too, his fear of being alone notwithstanding. He moves to the window, staring out at the world made safe again by the Winchesters and God. “I’m finished, Castiel. Washed up. The demons fought the darkness, but they didn’t do it for me. Demons are experts at self-preservation.”

Castiel makes a thoughtful humming sound. “You must be a grand master, then. With all that you’ve survived.”

The demon scoffs, slants the angel a withering glance.

“I’ve had to fight, tooth and nail for everything. For centuries. Fight, and scheme. Form alliances, kill off my rivals.” A dry, humorless chuckle. “I’ve killed a few allies, for that matter.” He turns to face Castiel. “I _married_ Lilith!”

Castiel blinks, shock evident on his face. It gives Crowley a tiny thrill of pleasure. It’s not often that he gets an unguarded response from the angel. He smiles a little, waves a dismissive hand.

“A marriage of convenience, of course. I had to get close to her. She ran hell while Lucifer was in the cage; had her grand plans to get him out. I had _my_ plans to keep him in. And then, your pet moose screwed it all up when he killed her and let Lucifer out of the cage!”

“You still became the king of Hell,” Castiel notes.

“You’re right.” Crowley glances over his shoulder at the angel. “With her dead, I had a clear path to the throne.” Only after Lucifer was locked back into the cage, though. Crowley still has those denim clad nightmares to thank for that. “It would’ve been far less messy had I been left to do it my way.”

The sun is setting. Red and gold light dances off the canal water below, the city is slowing down, turning from workday bustle to evening romance. Gondolas drift by carrying lovers hither and yon. Crowley starts, tenses when he realizes Castiel has moved to stand close behind him, looking at the scene over Crowley’s shoulder.

“Have you ever truly wanted anyone by your side?” The angel’s voice is soft against the background of lapping water, laughter and the murmur of voices drifting upwards from the canal. Crowley is silent for too long.

“What do you think?”

“I think you don’t want to ever be close to anyone, or anything,” Castiel says. “Isn’t that why you let Juliet leave?”

“Everyone leaves.”

“Or perhaps, you push them away.”

“I’ve never pushed anyone away, Kitten. They leave because they want things I’m not capable of giving.”

“What if I told you that you are, and you have?”

“I’d say you’ve got a vivid imagination.”

Castiel moves away to pour himself another drink. Crowley has never seen the angel drink as much as he is tonight. Maybe some part of Lucifer has stayed with him.

“So, you and I were never good together?” Castiel sips his drink.

“I didn’t say that.” There’s too much space between them. It irks him. Crowley goes to the sideboard standing close enough to Castiel that he can smell the ozone scent of him; the fragrance of summer storms and damp earth. He pours a drink and tosses it back. Normally, the demon would berate anyone for scarfing good whiskey. Tonight, he doesn’t care. He wants to get drunk _. Needs_ to get drunk. He curses his high tolerance for liquor.

“You’re important to me, Crowley.”

He doesn’t answer that. His lips won’t part to allow his feelings voice. They’re so close now, that they’re almost touching. Crowley turns his head a little, meeting the angel’s steady gaze.

“I can’t undo what Lucifer did,” Castiel whispers.

Crowley feels like he has fallen into a Venetian canal. He’s drowning, suddenly. Too many thoughts and feelings roil beneath the surface, pulling him down. He gasps for breath. Reaches out, desperately seizing a fistful of that stupid trench coat.

Castiel leans in, his lips a hairs-breadth away from Crowley’s mouth. “Forgive me,” he rasps.

“No.”

Confusion lights in blue eyes and the angel pulls back a little. Crowley holds tighter, refusing to let him go. “I can’t forgive you for something you didn’t do.” A slight movement of his head, and his lips graze Castiel’s earlobe, eliciting a shiver.

“I want you,” Castiel breathes the words against Crowley’s neck.

“Yes.” Crowley clings to the angel for dear life as he teleports them both to the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel of sorts, to this story can be found at chapter 14 of my Sabriel story _[The Song Remains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14283972/chapters/32949180)_ Whilst it is not necessary to read it, unless you want to, I'm just sayin'. ;)


End file.
